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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479388">since we're bound to be something, why not together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach'>petitepeach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>maybe it starts now [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SKAM (France)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Purple Prose, Romance, this is the soft epilogue, we join our boys years later, when everything is uncertain and terrifying and wonderful</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:40:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s freaking out, yes, but he’s also starting to smile, imagining what Eliott would look like in a fitted tux, imagining his face if Lucas were to get down on one knee and hold a flat palm out to him with a ring resting neatly in the centre of it.</p><p>Maybe it doesn’t have to be as scary as it is.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>or, the epilogue</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>maybe it starts now [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>217</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>it's been a while since we've been here, hasn't it?</p><p>i had a hard time getting here, for a few different reasons, but i missed this verse :')))) i missed these two!!</p><p>there's nothing but fluff here, my friends, nothing but the softest, squishiest feelings 🧡 i hope you like it!</p><p>title from mary oliver's <i>west wind</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Lucas&amp;Eliott </em>
</p><p> </p><p>What is a year, when you’re in love?</p><p>What are two years, or three, four, when you’re caught in a current of tumultuous life with a single hand anchoring you to the world?</p><p>How is time counted? Is it in the hours you watch crawl by, waiting for the moment you can climb a familiar set of stairs to a familiar white door, paint peeling at the corners, and open it to the familiar sound of a low voice singing along to pop music?</p><p>Is it in the minutes you spend together, laughing and crying and loving with every single inch of yourselves, foreheads pressed together and smiles touching soft skin and shared breaths <em> minute by minute</em>?</p><p>Is it in the seconds when your eyes meet across a room, the beat of your heart right before you kiss, the infinitesimal space between dreaming and waking, when you remember again and again that everything you can touch is real?</p><p>Time passes, and you count it in memories.</p><p>The first graduation, filled with teary hugs and celebratory champagne. The first apartment viewing, where you get so horribly lost it dissolves into an argument that leaves you both shaken for days. The second apartment viewing, when you arrive early and pretend to be detectives, investigating every strange doorway and hidden secret of a building that has seen more history than you know. The third apartment viewing, where you get lost again, but this time discover a private park, bursting with colourful flowers. You break in, kissing next to the lilacs, but the woman who discovers you doesn’t mind. She invites you in for tea. The fourth apartment viewing, which is too underwhelming to even mention. The fifth, where you learn that Paris does not smile upon those who hesitate. The sixth, where you begin to lose hope. The walk home that is quiet, contemplative, your linked hands swaying between your bodies. You stop at a street vendor for dinner and sit on the curb. You feel shamefully young. You rest your heads together and watch the sun set. You know that whatever you do, you’re together now. <em> Foxes mate for life</em>, one of you thinks, but you don’t say it. Or maybe, both of you think it, and neither of you say it. That’s something, isn’t it? </p><p>The seventh viewing. A gorgeously promising Saturday in June, where being young and foolish is a gift, and the world bends to the will of lovers. Somehow, it works. Big, wide windows. Furnished, but barely. Reportedly freezes in the winter and melts in the summer. Neighbours include an older couple who throw jazz parties and a young writer who is rarely seen. Imperfect and perfect. Exactly what you need. You stand in the living room, letting the generous sunlight wash over you and you start to cry, just a little, because <em> this is it</em>.</p><p>You learn from past mistakes and you come prepared to make a deposit on the spot.</p><p>So, you do.</p><p>A week of boxes and sweating. Staircases and tired muscles. A bottle of wine from the older couple next door as a housewarming gift. They demand you come to their next party. A freshly baked loaf wrapped in parchment paper on the floor with a note. The writer welcomes you like a benevolent ghost.</p><p>You christen the new mattress, the sofa, the kitchen counter, the floor. Every inch of your apartment knows the imprint of you when you’re done. You collapse onto the cool wood and you drink right from the bottle and you are awed by everything you see.</p><p>The second graduation, filled with more teary hugs and celebratory champagne. A party that ends with you slow dancing in a fountain. You’re both soaking wet but you laugh and kiss and when you look down the starry road of things to come, it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. This is where they say life starts, when you throw off the rented gown and dip your toes into the incomprehensible sea of the future. <em> It starts now</em>.</p><p>But what you learn, in the years since and years passed, is it has already started. Life is the simple act of existing. You crash into each other at a house party like meteors. You love like giants. You pass your final exams and kiss your friends and you move out, move on. Life is not a flower waiting to bloom in the infinitesimal gap of spring, it is now, now, and <em> now</em>.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Lucas </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lucas swears, up and down, that the best place to be in the middle of a July heatwave is a grocery store. It’s practically paradise amongst the melting pavement and scorched iron of the city.</p><p>He lets out a soft sigh when he passes through the sliding doors, his shoulders dropping from around his ears, his arms sagging at his sides. The lights are bright and the music is a touch too loud, but the icy blast of air conditioning is so soothing against his overheated skin that he could cry.</p><p>The energy of the building has a slow, syrupy quality to it that is an unmistakable product of summer. Bodies linger between aisles, heads tilt to consider different brands of cereal. Children get tired and plop themselves onto the tiled floor, kicking their feet at the air. Groups of girls pace through the wine section, comparing prices, picnic blankets sticking out from their bags, bread, fruit, and cheese carried in their arms.</p><p>Lucas picks up a bright blue basket from the stack next to the door and he joins the lazy flow of people, travelling first from the produce to the rice and pasta, gathering the ingredients to make the risotto recipe his mother emailed to him last night.</p><p><em> This is what I made the other night</em>, the email said.</p><p>It’s a regular occurrence now, that Eliott and Lucas will drop by his mother’s apartment to have coffee, help her move some furniture, and always stay for dinner. The first time they visited her together, it was a few weeks before Eliott’s graduation. Eliott had been adorably nervous, adjusting the collar of his shirt and fiddling with the bouquet of wildflowers he had brought.</p><p>But he hadn’t even needed to worry. Lucas’ mother welcomed Eliott to her apartment as though she had known him for years. By the end of the night, they were whispering at the dining room table when Lucas came out of the bathroom, giggling into their glasses of red wine. Sometimes, Eliott ventures over without Lucas, to help his mother in the garden, and he returns sunburnt, with dirt under his nails and potted lavender in his hands.</p><p>Lucas made a big deal of it, how his mother and his boyfriend are getting too close, and using every opportunity they can to swap mortifying stories about him, but what he doesn’t say is how it makes his entire self soften, knowing that the two most important people in his life are friends.</p><p>This is how Lucas finds himself double-checking his mother’s email, squinting at the ingredients listed on the recipe. Because the last time they had visited her, Eliott had mooned over the mushroom risotto for <em> hours </em>, and so Lucas had silently promised himself that one day, he would surprise Eliott by making the recipe himself.</p><p>There’s no reason that tonight has to be <em> the </em> night to recreate it. Both of their birthdays have passed, and their anniversary was back in May, a decision that was made when he had met Eliott outside of the art building the first year they were together, wearing a button-up shirt and holding a bouquet of sunflowers to his chest.</p><p>Eliott, who had looked as exhausted as Lucas felt, stretched thin by final assignments and exams, stumbled to a stop on the stairs, his mouth dropping open.</p><p>Lucas held out the flowers. <em>Happy anniversary, Eliott</em>, he said proudly, with only a touch of embarrassment he could feel in the heat under his cheeks, the stares from the other students passing by teasing at the back of his neck.</p><p>Eliott was quiet when he approached him, moving slowly and dazedly like he was passing through a dream, and Lucas had just laughed and said, <em> Eliott</em>, <em> baby, </em> and he hadn’t realized what the problem was until Eliott took the flowers in careful hands, lowered his face to their petals and said, so quietly, <em>I didn’t get you anything.</em></p><p>He said it like a confession of guilt, like it was one large strike against him as being the worst boyfriend in the world. But Lucas had just smiled.</p><p>
  <em>Looks like I’ll have to steal your title of anniversary expert now.</em>
</p><p>Eliott had huffed a laugh that greyed into a tired sigh, his eyebrows creasing together. <em>Lucas.</em></p><p>
  <em>Eliott.</em>
</p><p><em>I—I didn’t know.</em> Eliott said, gaze lowered to the flowers, fingers stroking delicately across a yellow petal. <em>I didn’t know when you wanted to…I mean, I didn’t know when you thought that we…</em> Lucas got what he wasn’t saying: <em> I don’t know what you see as the start for us </em>.</p><p><em>The way I see it</em>, Lucas had said lightly, sliding his hand into Eliott’s and tugging him along, turning towards the direction of his apartment, <em>everything started for us, that night. The first night we met. That’s the most…that’s when everything changed. For me, that was the moment I knew you’d be important to me. That was when I chose you. And when we got back together, that was us choosing each other again.</em> He shrugged. <em>We can celebrate both, if you like.</em></p><p>At this, Eliott had smiled, the sight of it like a shock of lightning across a dark sky. <em>No.</em> He squeezed Lucas’ hand. <em>I like today. I like remembering that night.</em></p><p>Lucas had stood on his toes, balancing precariously to land a kiss on Eliott’s cheek. <em>Me too.</em></p><p>Lucas doesn’t realize he’s fallen back into the memory until a basket bumps against his, startling him from thoughts of Eliott’s smile and Eliott’s hands and the way Eliott closes his eyes whenever he smells flowers. He nearly drops his phone and he swears under his breath, face flushing too much to be blamed on the July sun.</p><p>Even now, when they’ve been together for years, Lucas can still lose himself in a daydream of <em> Eliott Eliott Eliott </em> and forget the rest of the world entirely. It would be annoying to still be so in love if it wasn't so entirely exhilarating and life-affirming. Because Lucas waits for it, sometimes, the moment when they tire of each other, the moment where their sweetness turns bitter, the moment where they lose their love along the way from university to the life after it, floating through a murky sea. He finds himself waiting for it because he’s seen it before. His mother always says that she and his father were so in love when they first met, and then. Then.</p><p>Lucas finds himself holding onto Eliott with pale knuckles because he hears that nothing lasts, that young hearts are made to be broken, and that relationships started in university are doomed to fail. He thinks, <em> not us, not him</em>, and he tugs on the hem of Eliott’s t-shirt at a party, traps his hands between his while they watch a movie, curls himself around his back when they sleep.</p><p>Eliott knows, because of course he knows, knows Lucas better than anyone else in the world, and he turns into Lucas’ hold, kisses his tense knuckles, and says, <em> minute by minute, right? </em></p><p>It’s an impossible promise to make, but that is who they are to one another: impossible promises.</p><p>And this is why Lucas emailed his mother, and is now picking out a wedge of grossly overpriced parmesan. Because he still daydreams about Eliott at the grocery store, and the memory of him is enough to make his head swim and his lips curl into a smile. Because they’re taking everything minute by minute and somehow, they’re making it.</p><p>There’s a feeling that comes with the train of thought, as sweet and heady as honeyed liquor, that settles in him when he picks out a cheap bottle of sauvignon blanc from the wine section, when he doubles back to the coffee aisle because he knows they’re out, when he queues up to pay and smiles at the young woman that rings him through, and when he slips back out into the scalding touch of July with his full bag, letting out a sharp exhale when humidity rolls over him like a wave.</p><p>It’s a short walk back to the apartment, but it feels longer in the heat, every step like wading through a shallow beach.</p><p>He wipes his hand across his forehead, sighing, and turns onto a quieter side street, one that leads into the entrance of their neighbourhood. He steps onto the sidewalk, thinking about everything and nothing, and when he first sees it he looks away, but then he looks again, his pace slowing, his body turning towards it.</p><p>There’s a shop that sits on the corner, small and inviting, with a deep green awning. Lucas pauses at the window, flickers of sunlight catching on the glass, on the engagement rings displayed inside. Thick-cut diamonds with pristine edges. A photo propped up behind them of a smiling couple, a man and a woman on a beach.</p><p>Lucas has, for a long time, hated things like this: the schmaltzy marketing, the unbelievable price tag, the promise that the right <em> ring </em> can make a marriage last, when he’s seen firsthand how marriages can implode, and in the end the last thing that matters is what kind of ring you have.</p><p>But now, he’s twenty-five and he’s holding one of Eliott’s tote bags, and it’s heavy with weight of a tin of Eliott’s favourite coffee, and he squints into the refracting light and he thinks, <em> maybe </em>.</p><p>Eliott wouldn’t want a diamond, though. Not gold, either.</p><p>It forms in his mind from memory: Eliott’s bright smile, his delicate hands, his pale skin dotted with moles.</p><p>A plain silver band. One that would match his other rings. It would be simple, subtle, not an outright claim, but a small reminder. A pass of light across a smooth, shining surface.</p><p><em> Oh, this? </em> Eliott will say, wiggling his fingers, smiling knowingly. <em> Didn’t I tell you? Lucas and I are engaged. </em></p><p>The tote bag slips from his hand to the ground.</p><p>Lucas dives for it, terrified of the wine bottle breaking but there’s no shattered glass when the bag and its contents hit the sidewalk, no spilling of discounted pinot grigio across sun-scorched pavement, just a dull thud blanketed by the thick canvas of the tote. He lets out a relieved sigh, slowly rising from his crouch and sliding the strap back onto his shoulder.</p><p>He looks at the display again, at the rings displayed on velvet, cream-coloured pedestals.</p><p>Eliott would want to have all of their friends come to their wedding. He would want flowers, and probably a horrendous DJ, and he would probably smile shyly when Lucas read his vows to him, ducking his eyes and shuffling his feet that way he does whenever Lucas tells him things like, <em> You’re so beautiful, </em> and, <em> You’re so talented Eliott, this is incredible, </em> and, <em> You’re the love of my life, you know that? </em></p><p>Lucas is freaking out, a little, because getting married wasn’t a part of their plan. They’ve never really talked about it.</p><p>The plan was for Eliott to graduate and find an apprenticeship somewhere in the city. And that’s what he did. The plan was for Lucas to graduate, and to take a year off to work and save up some money before going back to school for a master’s in biology. And that’s what he did.</p><p>The plan was to find an apartment, actually decorate it as something other than shitty student housing, and to adopt a cat. And that’s what they did.</p><p>Never, at any point, did either of them say, <em> What if we got married? </em></p><p>Lucas is freaking out, a little, thinking of how this complicates everything, how he just graduated from school for the second time, and he still has no idea where he’s going to go next, especially if the Institut océanographique keeps ignoring his emails about their current opening for an entry-level researcher. Will he have to go south, to Marseilles? To Monaco, as if he could ever afford to live there? Maybe he’ll find something near Brest, and he’ll have to try and convince Eliott to move away to the coast. It’s nothing short of terrifying to consider. Everything changes and everything changes again, and Lucas doesn’t think there can be anything more turbulent and uncertain than being in your 20s.</p><p>He’s freaking out, yes, but he’s also starting to smile, imagining what Eliott would look like in a fitted tux, imagining his face if Lucas were to get down on one knee and hold a flat palm out to him with a ring resting neatly in the centre of it.</p><p>Maybe it doesn’t have to be as scary as it is.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>But that is a <em> maybe </em> that has to be tucked away with all of Lucas’ other dreams for now, because Lucas can feel the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, and he can feel a burn starting on his forehead, so he shifts the tote higher on his shoulder, praying that the parmesan will make it to the apartment, and he turns away from the rings, from the glowing advertisements promising a fairytale ending.</p><p>But he chances one look over his shoulder, one more glance at the shop, and his smile only grows wider, fuller.</p><p><em> Maybe, maybe, maybe</em>.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The apartment is cooler inside, but only just.</p><p>The windows are open wide and a gentle breeze flows in with the light, curving around the furniture and rustling the leaves of Eliott’s plants.</p><p>Lucas moves quietly but quickly across the apartment, avoiding the slats of the old, wooden floor that he knows creak the loudest. He carries the bag into the kitchen and unloads it onto the counter, everything going into the fridge except the rice, which he tucks behind a box of cereal in one of the cabinets. There’s a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge, as well as some leftover Pad Thai and an odd assortment of beer. Lucas bypasses the beer and goes for the lemonade, pouring himself a glass and knocking it back like a shot. Eliott had made it a few days ago, and of course had added far too much sugar, but Lucas likes it, how the sweetness makes his toes curl, makes him lick his lips after just to taste a little more of it. He thinks of that afternoon, Eliott staring at him from across the kitchen with hooded eyes.</p><p><em> It’s good</em>, Lucas had said, and then he’d offered his cup to Eliott, smiling widely. <em> Want a taste? </em></p><p>The memory turns hazy after that, of Eliott pushing him against the counter and kissing him, hot and open-mouthed, lemon and sugar caught between their lips, of him reaching for the hem of Lucas’ shorts and tugging at them, dropping down to his knees.</p><p>Lucas’ phone buzzes from its place on the counter and he startles, nearly dropping his glass onto the floor.</p><p><em> Fuck </em>. Maybe it’s the heat, turning Lucas into his overly-hormonal, sixteen-year-old self again. Or maybe it’s all the talk of marriage. He’s embarrassingly aware how much domesticity gets him going.</p><p>He glances down at his phone and there, it’s as though thinking of marriage summoned it, the photo to the group chat of Celine and Idriss at a rugby game, both holding giant beers and wearing black jerseys. Further dispatches from their honeymoon.</p><p>Lucas texts back, <em> you look drunk &lt;3, </em>and locks his phone again, turning away from the counter and drifting quietly out of the kitchen. He’s thinking he might get started on the laundry, maybe start a movie on his laptop, but his eye catches on something in the living room and he stops, pivoting towards it.</p><p>Eliott is asleep on the sofa.</p><p>He hadn’t noticed him on his way in, and had assumed that Eliott had gone to their room after Lucas left that morning to meet Yann for breakfast. He’d been awake all night, finishing up on his latest assignment from The New Yorker.</p><p>After he’d finished school, Eliott managed to find an apprenticeship with an illustrator in Paris, a lovely woman named Isobel, who chained-smoked and drank scotch in the afternoons and was one of the funniest people Lucas had ever met. Isobel gave Eliott jobs to do here and there, but mostly encouraged him to do whatever he wanted during the work day, and then occasionally invited him to parties and gallery openings. It was while working for her that Eliott began drawing the comics about the raccoon and the hedgehog that were in love, living in a small toadstool apartment in the woods in northern France. Lucas was the one who told Eliott to post them online, and was the first one to follow the Instagram account Eliott created for this. But now, Lucas is only one of 500,000 people who follow the account.</p><p>It started with their friends, then Eliott’s classmates from school, then some other illustrators, and then there was a share on some well-known artist’s story, and just like that, Lucas found himself cackling at the look of complete shock on Eliott’s face as he stared down at his phone, the tiny black numbers continuously going up.</p><p>Eliott still made the comics now. He kept them sweet, and simple, but he also became braver with them, using the characters to convey messages about bipolarity, and the reality of living with it. But after the account became popular, so did the creator, and now Eliott had freelance work coming in all the time, for newspapers and magazines and blogs. Lucas had bragged endlessly to the gang when Eliott first had an illustration printed in an American magazine, and had shamelessly bought every copy they had at the newstand around the corner.</p><p>And last night, Eliott had come into their room just after midnight, curling around Lucas’ back and whispering in his ear, <em>It’ll be at least a few more hours</em>. A soft kiss to his cheek.<em> I’m</em> <em>sorry, baby</em>.</p><p>Lucas had only smiled, reaching back to pat Eliott on the cheek, and landing on his nose. <em> S’okay</em>. <em> Good luck. I love you</em>.</p><p>Lucas didn’t know when Eliott finally went to sleep. The door to his small studio was closed when he woke up, and he had been worried that Eliott may have fallen asleep in his chair again.</p><p>But no, he’s here, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, laying on his stomach with his face pressed into one of their pillows, a small black mass curled up on his lower back.</p><p>Lucas grins biting down his thumb, and Chelou raises her wide, yellow eyes like she can tell she’s being watched. When she sees Lucas, she just yawns, and lowers her head again.</p><p>It’s fine. Lucas knows that Eliott is her favourite. Eliott is the one who’s usually home, the one who always has the treats, and the one who’s the most comfortable to sleep on. Lucas is the one Chelou goes to when she feels like being annoying, following him around the house whenever he gets up at night, walking across his laptop when he’s trying to fill out a job application. Eliott always says they annoy each other because they’re too alike. Lucas always flips him off.</p><p>Eliott shifts, burying his face further into the pillow, and something overwhelmingly fond tugs at Lucas’ heart, something that makes him want to sit on the armrest and gently stroke his fingers through Eliott’s hair, or make him a cup of tea and leave it for him to find, or kiss him on the back of his neck until he wakes up.</p><p>But he doesn’t do any of these things. He turns away, happy just with the thought that Eliott is finally getting some sleep, and he’s nearly out of the living room when there’s a soft, low voice calling him back.</p><p>“Lu?”</p><p>Eliott is propped up on one arm, blinking blearily into the warm light pouring in through the windows. His hair looks like ruffled feathers, and there’s a crease from the pillow etched into his cheek.</p><p>The fond feeling that was tugging at Lucas’ heart now swallows it whole, summer-sweet affection blooming in him like wildflowers.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, and the word spills out with honeysuckle, lavender, clover. “Go back to sleep, I’m just…going to take the laundry down.”</p><p>Eliott frowns. “What?”</p><p>Lucas smiles. “Go back to sleep, Eliott.”</p><p>“No.” Eliott shakes his head. He lifts his free arm up, tilting his body back on the couch and startling Chelou from her perch on his back. “Oh shit, sorry Loulou.”</p><p>Chelou climbs down from the sofa with great dignity, sending Lucas a glare before she slips out of the room, probably heading right for Lucas’ side of their bed.</p><p>“You know I hate it when you call her that.”</p><p>Eliott grins at him, stretching his legs towards the end of the sofa, his feet bumping up against the armrest. “No, you don’t. You’re just annoyed because you two have the same nickname, and that it’s cute.”</p><p>Lucas rolls his eyes. “It’s not cute.”</p><p>Eliott’s smile softens. In the brightness of the room, his eyes are so clear they’re like sea glass at the bottom of the ocean. “Come here,” he says quietly.</p><p>Lucas flushes, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “I’m all sweaty and gross.”</p><p>“I don’t care.”</p><p>“Eliott.”</p><p>“Lucas.”</p><p>It’s a battle of wills that’s really not a battle at all, because Eliott’s eyes crinkle like he already knows he’s won, and Lucas doesn’t even bother to hide the smile curving the corners of his mouth. </p><p>He pauses at the edge of the couch and then there’s a pair of hands at his hips, tugging him down, rolling him into Eliott’s sleep-warm body. They both giggle, limbs tangling, knees knocking together, foreheads bumping as they look at each other.</p><p>It should be uncomfortable, to be so close when it’s this unbearably warm, but there’s a fan blowing towards them that was left on all night, and Eliott’s shirt is soft under Lucas’ fingertips, his skin even softer, and Lucas burrows even closer, resting his head on Eliott’s bicep, stroking a hand down his back, pressing his lips to the hollow of his throat.</p><p>“Hi,” he says again, and Eliott lets out a gentle laugh, tightening his hold on Lucas’ waist.</p><p>“Hi. How was breakfast?”</p><p>“It was good. Yann’s good. He told me to tell you hello.”</p><p>Eliott hums, pressing another kiss to Lucas’ temple.</p><p>“How did it go last night?”</p><p>“I finished it. Sent it off to the editor, but I doubt I’ll hear back until Monday.”</p><p>“Eli, that’s great.” Lucas raises his hand to Eliott’s face, stroking his thumb down his cheekbone. “I’m proud of you.”</p><p>The skin under his thumb grows pink, warms under his touch. “Thanks,” he says quietly.</p><p>“I have a plan for dinner tonight. To celebrate.”</p><p>Eliott smiles, tilting his head so he can kiss Lucas’ fingers. “That sounds promising.”</p><p>Lucas just wiggles his eyebrows and Eliott snorts a laugh, kissing down Lucas’ fingers to his palm, then to his wrist, lingering there.</p><p>“You smell like summer.”</p><p>Lucas smiles, twirling a lock of Eliott’s hair around his finger. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Mhm.” Eliott kisses down his forearm to his elbow. “Your skin is like sunshine.” He uses his grip on Lucas’ arm to tug it around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. “You’re a dream.”</p><p>Lucas arches up into a kiss, so overwhelmed with love and sun-drunk that he doesn’t trust himself to speak. If he does, he’s worried he might say something like, <em> Marry me, Eliott</em>.</p><p>The kiss is slow, lingering, the space around them like a flower folding down in the night, a small world of petal-soft touches and sweet sounds, a gentle gasp passed between their mouths, a tilt of the head that makes the kiss deepen, lips parting slickly together.</p><p>Lucas fists a hand in the back of Eliott’s shirt, and lets himself kiss and be kissed into heavenly oblivion. The distant warmth of the July sun curves over his shoulder, Eliott’s palm following the steep line of it down to his back, resting on the curve at the base of his spine.</p><p>They stop to catch their breath, giddy and breathless and unable to stop looking at each other, until Eliott yawns, and Lucas laughs, poking him in the cheek and saying, <em> I told you, you need to sleep </em>, and he follows Eliott when he rolls onto his back, resting his head on his chest, letting himself be lulled into an indulgent afternoon nap by the cadence of Eliott’s heart beneath his cheek.</p><p>Moments before he drifts away, with his eyelids heavy and his mind pleasantly fuzzy, he traces a finger along Eliott’s forearm to the back of his hand, and then to the fourth finger on his hand, gently stroking knuckles and bare skin, and thinking of—</p><p>Of nothing at all.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Eliott </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Summer sunsets turn the sky to liquid fire.</p><p>It’s a sight that draws the eye of every soul in Paris, a glance out to the blood orange horizon, streaks of red and rust with deep purple veins and yellowed edges. Some take note of the sunset and then turn away, mind already a thousand miles away from the sun and the clouds and nebula of colour, but then there are some who stop, whose eyes widen with delight, whose breath catches in their throats.</p><p>Eliott Demaury is one of these people. He fumbles with his phone to take a picture, hastily apologizing to a couple passing by with a stroller and shuffling to the side of the bridge, pressing his hip into the rough stone, eyes focused on the horizon.</p><p>But an iPhone camera is not conducive towards capturing the ephemeral magic of the sunset, despite what their advertisements say, and Eliott huffs out an annoyed breath when he sees that the colours on his screen are just a ghost of what lays before him, pale and muted. He sends it anyway, because he wants him to see it, wants to get him as close as he can to experiencing this moment with Eliott.</p><p>He types out, <b><em>look at the sky</em></b>.</p><p>It’s only a moment before Lucas replies, <em> it’s beautiful</em>, and adds on a dozen orange hearts.</p><p>
  <b> <em>makes me think of you</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> shut uppppp </em>
</p><p>Eliott grins down at the small screen, imagining the blush that would touch Lucas’ cheeks when he read the message, how he would bite down on his lip as he typed out a reply, trying not to smile, but failing. Eliott’s favourite expression of his.</p><p>
  <b> <em>are you leaving your mom’s place?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> left early, actually. she has ~plans~ with ~friends~ and she kicked me out </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i still have to get to the other side of town but i won’t be too late </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>lol sounds good</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>i miss you</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> shut UPPPPP </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i miss you too </em>
</p><p>
  <em> love you </em>
</p><p>Eliott tucks his phone away in the pocket of his jeans, still smiling uncontrollably, the deepest reds of the sunset reflected onto his cheeks. It’s the same flush of affection that Eliott felt when he first laid eyes on Lucas, and the one he has never lost, not in the entire time they’ve been together.</p><p>But then, everything with Lucas always feels like that. Not new, because they know each other now, as deeply as two people can know each other, but...exciting. Significant. They’ve been together for nearly five years, and yet, Eliott still daydreams about Lucas’ hands, his lips, the curve at the base of his spine. He’ll think about him while he’s working and he’ll begin drawing Lucas without realizing it. Eliott knows that the expectation would be for them to lose some of their intensity as the years wear on, knows that Lucas was probably considering it too, but they just. Haven’t. That’s just not them.</p><p>Eliott feels the way Lucas holds onto him sometimes, choked by phantom fears that linger late into the night of packed bags and sour silences, and Eliott knows those fears all too well, so he’ll hold onto Lucas in return, and he’ll tell him, <em> minute by minute, baby </em>, because that is what they promised each other, when both of their hearts were still broken. Minute by minute.</p><p>He crosses from the bridge onto another street, passing by a restaurant with a bursting patio, couples and groups of friends and families crammed into the small tables, their faces lit by flickering tea lights. </p><p>It’s a nice place. Romantic. The type of place Eliott might actually be able to afford now that he has regular work coming. He imagines himself, wearing his best shirt, ordering the second-cheapest bottle of wine on the menu. He imagines Lucas across from him, eyes like an autumn sky, hiding a laugh into the palm of his hand. He imagines them sharing bites of their food, their knees knocking together underneath the tiny table, only pretending to debate about ordering dessert before choosing something that contains three different types of chocolate. And he lets himself go a little more, barely even aware of the corner he takes, his feet carrying him to a destination he already knows while his heart whispers to his head, <em> and then you take his hand, and you tell him that he’s everything to you. Everything there is. And then you ask him to marry you</em>.</p><p>Eliott flushes, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand, shy as though everyone he passes on the street can hear his thoughts.</p><p>It’s something he’s thought about before. If Eliott is being entirely honest, the first time he thought about marriage and Lucas in the same galaxy was when he projected the night sky onto the ceiling of his bedroom, and he’d looked down at Lucas, coloured in soft hues by the light, pressed into Eliott’s sheets, panting and grinning, and Eliott had thought, <em> I want to marry him someday</em>.</p><p>It’s particularly minute by minute of him. As much as Eliott appreciates that mantra, likes the simplicity of it, likes how it has the ability to coax each of them out of a negative headspace when said in just the right way, he also doesn’t entirely subscribe to it. Lucas is aware of this, because Eliott told him once, how he could swear he’s been in love Lucas from the very first night he met him, but what Eliott didn’t tell him was how he began to dream of <em> commitment</em>, of living together, being together, getting married, far too early into their relationship to be considered appropriate.</p><p>It was one of the things that frightened him, that made Eliott fold in on himself like burning paper, blackened edges turning to ash, because he knew that it was too soon. He knew that it, that <em> he </em>, was too much, and that fear made him break them. It still lives inside of him, that anxiety that clenches tight fingers around his heart, that tells him he’ll never deserve this, not really. He’ll never deserve to be loved like this.</p><p>But him and Lucas have been through so much, now. They’ve built something together that’s unbelievably good. They live together. They adopted a cat together. Eliott’s so in love he feels like the first day of summer funnelled into a human body, and he knows that Lucas loves him just as much. Lucas wants this, wants them, just as much.</p><p>So, maybe.</p><p>One day.</p><p><em> Maybe</em>.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Eliott arrives at a familiar blue door and he lets it go, for now. He doesn’t have a ring, doesn’t have any idea of where or when would be best to ask, only has longing, as familiar to him as his own hands, now. Eliott has been longing for Lucas from the first moment he saw him, and every moment since. It seems fitting that even now, when they’ve been together like this for so long, there is Eliott, still yearning for him.</p><p>He’s buzzed up the second he presses the button for apartment five, and he takes the stairs two at a time, the sound of music and laughter growing louder, more boisterous with each step, until he can see it, an open door at a landing, bodies spilling out from the apartment into the hallway. Eliott doesn’t recognize the people in the doorway but they welcome him in all the same, laughing and ushering him inside with hands clutching beer bottles and plates of food.</p><p>“Make sure you get some of the cake before it’s gone,” a girl with lilac-coloured hair advises him as he passes, pointing at a thick slice of red velvet sitting on her plate. “It’s fucked-up delicious.” Eliott laughs and thanks her, and then he’s squeezing through the narrow entryway into a wide, high-ceilinged living room.</p><p>Eliott knows this apartment, was one of the suckers roped into helping with moving day, but he hasn’t seen it like this before, with strings of fairy lights tacked up on the walls and draped over the furniture, people sitting on every available surface, their laughter nearly drowning out the Fleetwood Mac record spinning on the turntable. He sees Sofiane and Imane tucked into a corner of the room and he waves, laughing when Sofiane blows him a kiss.</p><p>“Eliott!”</p><p>He turns towards the sound, and there’s the hostesses herself, barrelling towards him in a long red dress with a glass of wine in hand.</p><p>Celine presses a messy kiss to each of his cheeks, then laughs, wiping at the skin with her thumb. “Fuck, sorry, got a bit of lipstick on you.”</p><p>Over her shoulder, Idriss winks.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it.” Eliott reaches into his tote bag and offers the bottle inside. “A welcome-home present for you. Lucas picked it out.”</p><p>Celine makes a face. “Ugh. I mean,” she takes the bottle with soft, apologetic eyes. “Thank you. That’s lovely. It’s just, you know. I adore Lucas, but he has the worst taste in wine.”</p><p>Idriss bursts into laughter, reaching around Celine to pull Eliott into a tight hug. “Hey, Eli.”</p><p>Eliott buries his cheek into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his back. “Missed you,” he says, because it’s true. He misses <em> them</em>, misses not being able to walk down the hallway and knock on Idriss and Sofiane’s doors. It feels like it’s all changed so quickly, that one moment they were all living together, lying on Idriss’ floor and listening to Sade, and now, Sofiane and Idriss are <em> married</em>, and Eliott is…well, he’s.</p><p>“Missed you too, man,” Idriss says softly. He presses a kiss to the side of Eliott’s hair and pulls away, eyes darting over Eliott’s shoulder. “Where’s your husband at?”</p><p>“He’s <em> not </em>—”  Eliott stars, then abruptly cuts himself off. “He’s, uh, coming from his mom’s place. He should be here soon.”</p><p>“Good.” Celine says emphatically, the wine bottle now tucked under her arm. “I have so much gossip to catch up on.”</p><p>“How was it?” Eliott asks, bouncing on his toes. There’s a lingering flush on his cheeks that he fights the urge to scrub away at it. “Your trip.”</p><p>Celine and Idriss break out in a rapturous chorus of, “Fucking <em> amazing</em>,” at the exact same moment, as though they’ve been asked this question a hundred times already, and they’re nowhere near tired of answering it yet.</p><p>“We started,” Celine says grandly, sweeping one arm out, “in Korea. Had to introduce him to all five-hundred of my aunts, you know. Then we went to Singapore, had the best meal of my life there, fuck I still dream about it, honestly, then to New Zealand, where Idriss took us to a rugby game.” She rolls her eyes.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Idriss interrupts her indignantly, already laughing. “You were more into it than I was! Eliott, you should have seen it, by the time the second half started she was three beers deep and cussing out all the refs.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you Idriss, and <em> then </em> we finished in Australia, and we got to see sharks. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I think my whole life peaked at that moment.”</p><p>“Really?” Idriss squints down at her. “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to you? Not when I proposed in Morocco?” Celine makes a face at him. “Not when we got married?” Idriss’ expression shifts, his smile turning smug, his eyebrows arching, and Eliott sees the change reflected in Celine’s own expression, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the fairy lights catching on her eyes. “Not the first night at that hotel in Seoul?”</p><p>“<em>Idriss</em>.” Celine looks scandalized, her hand pressing into her chest. After a moment, she says, “But I concede, that was actually pretty fucking great.”</p><p>They tell Eliott more about their trip, about how Idriss nearly fell out of a boat in Australia, and how Celine somehow managed to get them lost in the Botanical Gardens in Singapore. They tell Eliott about Celine’s family, and how her cousin Sun-mi shamelessly asked Idriss if he had any single cousins right in front of Celine’s <em> oe-halmoni. </em></p><p>They get pulled away from Eliott eventually, and he just grins and waves them off, knowing that everyone who’s come that night has probably missed them as much as Eliott has, and are just as greedy for their stories, want to soak in their palpable joy just as badly.</p><p>There’s nothing like it in the world, to see your closest friends at their happiest.</p><p>Eliott watches them go with a fond smile as they disappear into the party, and then makes his way to the kitchen. He finds the cake the girl at the door mentioned right away, or at least what’s left of it: a corner with the edge of a heart is visible, a trail of crumbs leading onto the floor, smears of icing across a wide, red plate. He’s just reaching for the knife when he sees Yann, Basile, and Arthur leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with amused eyes.</p><p>They pull Eliott into a clumsy group hug, stray hands patting him on the shoulder and smoothing over his hair and Eliott laughs, extracting himself before Basile is able to plant a wet, loud kiss on his cheek.</p><p>“You two are always late to parties, I swear,” Basile sighs. He frowns at the empty space next to Eliott. “Where’s Lucas?”</p><p>The thing is, it would be annoying, maybe. Eliott understands how some people become frustrated at being only known as a couple, considered a half when they themselves are actually a whole, but Eliott doesn’t see it that way. He walks into a party by himself, and the question on everyone’s lips is, <em> Where’s Lucas, </em> not because Eliott is only half of a heart and mind, but because they should be together. Because Lucas and Eliott are <em> Lucas&amp;Eliott </em>.</p><p>This is why, when Basile asks, the question makes Eliott smile, makes him duck his head to glance at the tips of his Converse.</p><p>“He should be here soon,” he tells them. “He’s coming from his mom’s place.”</p><p>Yann and Basile coo at Eliott’s pink cheeks, laughing when he flips them off, and Arthur hands him the last slice of cake with a grin, jerking his head towards Yann.</p><p>“He made it, so, you know it’s really fucking good.”</p><p>The cake <em> is </em> really fucking good, but Eliott stops after a few bites because he knows Lucas will be sad if he doesn’t save him any, and tucks his plate behind himself on the counter.</p><p>Yann notices of course, because Yann notices everything, and he mouths <em> whipped </em> to Lucas over Basile’s shoulder, who's in the middle of a story about the last time he and Daphné went to his grandfather’s farm.</p><p>Eliott just shrugs, and smiles, because it’s true, and because there’s no defence for it. He’s in love. Embarrassingly so.</p><p>He eventually leaves them to find Sofiane, and the living room is even more busy than it was when he left it, a continuous ebb and flow of people spilling in from the doorway. An impromptu circle of dancers surrounds the record player, swaying to the music, their arms over their heads, the lights sparking off of their jewellery, their glittering makeup. Eliott loves the sight of them, the ease and abandon with which they all move, and he’s struck by the image, of all thing, of jellyfish pulsing in deep waters, and he’s not really paying attention to where he’s going, so he doesn’t see him, doesn’t even register him until they’re colliding, and he reaches for him without thought, hands gripping onto his waist, smoothing across the soft fabric of his shirt.</p><p>Eliott knows who it is before he even looks down, from the feel of him under his hands, from the smell of him, of fresh laundry and sunshine, but there’s a giddiness erupting inside of him, a sweet anticipation for the moment Eliott will actually see his face, and there. <em> Now</em>.</p><p>A shock of midnight-blue eyes against gold skin, a perfect crest of a nose, pink lips that look so soft, Eliott finds himself swaying forward without even meaning to.</p><p>It’s so like the very first moment they met, at another party in another living room that was Celine’s, that Eliott only has to blink to find himself there, the lights in the room sharpening, soft gold to bold neon, the music coming from the record player deepening, the beat echoing underneath Eliott’s ribs. And beneath his hands, achingly beautiful and perfect, is Lucas, staring up at him with his mouth dropping open, eyes widening.</p><p>“Hi,” Lucas breathes, and Eliott swallows, his hold on his shirt tightening.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, just as softly. Then, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”</p><p>Lucas tilts his head at him, and Eliott watches, rapt, as his eyebrows furrow, gaze questioning, but something he sees in Eliott’s face makes him smirk, knowing, and Eliott is already finished before they even start.</p><p>“That’s okay,” Lucas says. His fingers dance up Eliott’s forearms to his biceps, curling around the edges of his sleeves. “I wasn’t either.” He bites down his bottom lip like he’s trying not to laugh.</p><p>“I’m Eliott,” he says, because he can’t <em> not </em> at this point, can’t miss the chance to see that smile grow too big to be contained.</p><p>“Nice to meet you.” Lucas says, and there it is, his smile is wide, delighted, utterly beautiful, and Eliott can’t help himself, even though he’s the one that started this game. He dips his head and kisses him, more teeth than anything else because he can’t stop smiling either.</p><p>Lucas laughs, cupping Eliott’s face between his palms. “You’re very forward, Eliott.”</p><p>“Yeah, I am.” Eliott says, so close their lips brush together when he speaks. “Does it bother you?”</p><p>Lucas shakes his head, stroking a thumb across Eliott’s cheekbone. The gesture pulls them further out of the charade, too tender for two people who have just met, too softened by time, by the memory of every single morning where they’ve woken up together. “No,” Lucas says, and Eliott has to try to remember what he asked him in the first place. “I like it.”</p><p>“I like you,” Eliott tells him, utterly and embarrassingly sincere, before he’s being coaxed into another kiss, soft lips opening under his, warm breath ghosting across his chin.</p><p>They kiss, and any lingering traces of the night they met slip away like smoke to the night air, but it’s almost better now, because yes, Eliott likes to think of that night a lot, but he might like this one more, where everything is as familiar as it is new, where everyone asks Eliott, <em> Where’s Lucas, </em>where the next scary thing is as simple as asking a question.</p><p>Just one.</p><p>Eliott pulls away first, can hear catcalling coming from the direction of the kitchen, and he laughs when Lucas rolls his eyes, sending a middle finger up in the vague direction of the noise.</p><p>“I can’t escape them,” Lucas groans, but his eyes tell a different story, glittering and fond.</p><p>“How’s your mom?” Eliott asks. He slides Lucas’ bag off of his shoulder, fingers lingering on the material of his t-shirt, the curve of muscle. “Here, let me take this.” He peers inside of the bag and gasps when he sees something tightly wrapped in foil. “Is that banana bread?”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> more banana bread. And she’s good. She told me to tell you that her garden’s doing really well.”</p><p>Eliott hums happily, thinking about the day he spent with Lucas’ mother outside, the sun beating down on his shoulders, dirt caked into his palms. “See? I told her the tomato plant would survive.”</p><p>“You did.” Lucas says slowly. He tilts his head, forehead creasing, and Eliott shifts under the sudden weight of his gaze, blushing as though they really are back within the borders of that night in May again, when Eliott could barely keep his eyes off of Lucas, but felt almost unbearably shy whenever Lucas looked back at him.</p><p>Eliott clears his throat. “Yann brought a cake,” He says, gesturing towards the next room. “I saved you the last slice, but Arthur might have eaten it by now, I don’t know.” He laughs, shrugging, and when he glances back down at Lucas, he’s still staring at Eliott, but his eyes have become distant, his expression slack.</p><p>“What?” Eliott asks, glancing over his own shoulder. “Did you see Celine? She’s here somewhere, and I saw Imane earlier, maybe we could—”</p><p>There’s a hand gripping onto Eliott’s forearm tightly, and Eliott yelps, stumbling over his own feet as Lucas drags him down the hallway that branches off from the living room, dimly lit by the light spilling out of the bathroom. At the end of the hall, there’s a closed door, which Eliott can only assume is Idriss and Celine’s, and he doesn’t want to think about that too much, but he doesn’t know what <em>to</em> think about, not when Lucas is striding forward like he’s angry about something, like he’s desperate.</p><p>“Lucas?” Eliott asks, gently worried. “Is everything alright, baby?”</p><p>Eliott’s not sure what it is, the hesitation in his voice, the comparable quiet of the hallway to the menagerie of a living room, but Lucas stops, abruptly enough that Eliott bumps into him, knees sinking into the back of Lucas’ thighs, the band bread loaf swinging like a pendulum at his side.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Lucas says quietly. He turns back towards Eliott and his face is bathed in the warm light from the bathroom, illuminating his eyes so perfectly that Eliott can see the stormy ocean of nerves within them.</p><p>“Did I say something?” Eliott asks, because he doesn’t know what else to do.</p><p>Lucas chokes on a laugh, dropping Eliott’s arm so he can rub his palms over his cheeks. “Yeah, you kind of did.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“You know who I ran into today?” The question is sharp, as kinetic as a roll of thunder and Eliott frowns, trying to keep up with him, jumping from <em> I have no idea</em>, to <em> oh fuck tell me it wasn’t your father, </em> to <em> you met a talking rat on the metro who dreams of becoming a chef. </em></p><p>But Eliott doesn’t have to guess, because Lucas tells him. “Ben,” he says, and it takes Eliott a moment to remember who that even is, but when he does, he feels his heart sink.</p><p>That asshole. It’s been <em> years</em>, and Eliott still can’t stand him. Not from the first moment he met him at Celine’s party, overhearing the cruel way he spoke to Lucas, and definitely not after Lucas told him what happened after they broke up, how Benoît found Lucas when he was at his most vulnerable, and tried to prod at the place that would hurt the most.</p><p><em> I was so angry</em>, Lucas told him. He was sitting with his back to the fence around their balcony, cradling a cup of tea, his legs entwined with Eliott’s. <em> But I was also so, so fucking tired. I was tired of him speaking to me like that. I was tired of him always thinking he could get the last word in. I was tired of him still believing he had the power to hurt me. </em></p><p><em> I’m proud of you, </em> Eliott had said. He wished he could have seen it, the look on Benoît’s face when Lucas told him off, but thinking that made him think of why Lucas had been there in the first place. He’d tried to say, <em> Lucas, I’m so sorry</em>, but Lucas wasn’t having that, shaking his head at Eliott and placing his cup on the stone floor and crawling towards Elliott, planting himself between his legs, leaning back into his chest.</p><p><em>I’m proud of myself too</em>, Lucas said, wrapping Eliott’s arms around himself. <em>I wanted to say something like that to him for a long time, but...I don’t know. I never felt brave enough.</em></p><p>Eliott smiled, kissing the crown of his head. <em>You’re the bravest person I know.</em></p><p>“It was in a café,” Lucas tells him now, and he sounds rushed and anxious and giddy all at once. “You know that place around the corner from my mom’s? I was in the queue for a coffee, and someone called my name, and it was fucking <em> him</em>, asking me if we could talk.” Lucas’ mouth twists into a wry smile. “He looked exactly the same, you know.”</p><p>Eliott feels his spine stiffen.</p><p>“I told him I was giving him three minutes, and he starts telling me that he’s <em> sorry</em>. Sorry for everything that happened between us, sorry for the way he treated me. He said it still bothers him, even now, and that he…well, he’s seeing a therapist now. He talks to her about us, supposedly.”</p><p>Eliott absorbs this information carefully. “That’s…good,” he says at length, gauging Lucas’ expression, and finding the same excitable, barely-contained energy there. “That’s good for him, really. But you know you don’t have to forgive him, even if he says he’s sorry. That’s your choice.”</p><p>Slowly, a smile blooms across Lucas’ face. “That’s exactly what I told him. I’m happy for him, that he’s speaking to someone, you know, seeking help, but I also told him we couldn’t go back to being friends.”</p><p>Eliott frowns. “He asked you to?”</p><p>Lucas rolls his eyes. “He asked me on a date.”</p><p>A familiar anger coils itself around the base of Eliott’s neck. “He <em> what</em>.”</p><p>Lucas flaps a hand at him. “I told him no right away, that there was no chance of that ever happening, let alone us being friends.” He lets out a sudden laugh. “Can you fucking believe that? As if I would have said yes.”</p><p>Eliott shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Lucas. If he upset you at all—”</p><p>“No, no.” Lucas places one hand on Eliott’s chest, eyes unwaveringly sincere. “I have a point I’m getting to, I promise, and it’s not that.”</p><p>Eliott nods. “That’s okay,” he says gently, the anger within him quieting as quickly as it had come. He has no idea where Lucas is leading them with this, but Eliott will follow him, will let Lucas talk for as long as he needs to, because, well. Lucas does the same for him, so many times, without thought.</p><p>“I’m trying to tell you that— ” Lucas cuts himself off with a sigh, tilting his head back towards the ceiling. The bathroom light cuts across his jawline, bathing his face in shadow. “Fuck, I think I’m going about this the wrong way. I really didn’t want to do this right after talking about Shitty Ben, of all fucking people.” He sounds frustrated, but he’s still smiling, shaking his head at himself, and Eliott smiles in return, helpless to do anything but lift Lucas’ hand from his chest, kissing his knuckles.</p><p>“You can tell me anything.”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Eliott pauses, eyes lifting from the sun-washed skin of Lucas’ hand, and Lucas is smiling at him, so, so softly.</p><p>“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I fucked it up with my opening, I’m sorry, but it’s important, because I told him. I mean, I told him that he and I have been out of each other’s lives for years now, and it absolutely should stay that way, but I also told him that I have someone who really loves me and cares about me, in,” Lucas inhales, and his breath is a shaking, fragile thing, an autumn leaf at the base of a rainstorm, “in ways I never thought anyone would. He…he remembers things I tell him, even things that I forget second after I say them, he remembers it <em> all</em>, and he’s so patient with me. He’s so thoughtful, always.”</p><p>“Lucas,” Eliott whispers. He feels like he’s in a vacuum, or on the edge of Saturn’s rings, everything around him overwhelmingly quiet and still.</p><p>“I used to daydream about finding someone like you,” Lucas says easily, as though he’s not brightening the stars with every word. “Someone who gets along so well with my mom.” He grins, and his eyes are seas, skies, planets,<em> home</em>. “Someone who texts me pictures of the sunset because they miss me. Someone who saves me the last slice of cake.”</p><p>“This is about the cake?” Eliott asks faintly, disbelievingly, and Lucas bursts into laughter, loud and gorgeous.</p><p>“It’s sort of about the cake, but it’s really about you, and about how much you take care of me, without even realizing that you do. And I just…saying it out loud, to Ben in that café, all I could think was, I’m in love with the best person in this entire world, and somehow, he just...loves me back.”</p><p>Eliott sniffs, and he realizes that he’s crying, small pools in the corners of his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, not when Lucas is, Lucas is—</p><p>“It’s the next scary thing, isn’t it?” He smiles, the kind that can only come from an inside joke between lovers. “This. This exact moment. And I’ve been scared of it, of how it could changed everything all over again, but you know what, fuck it, you’re my best friend, Eliott, you’ve made me believe in soulmates, and I’m so in love with you that looking at you makes me want to cry sometimes what is up with<em> that</em>, and I really meant to do this properly, to...I don’t know, plan something romantic, and I don’t even have a fucking ring—”</p><p>“A <em> what</em>?” Eliott squeaks, high and breathless, and his hand slips on Lucas’ bag, the precious banana bread falling to the floor just as Lucas takes a step forward, comes close enough to touch, and Eliott might be having a panic attack and he also might be dreaming, stuck between the pages of his sketchbook, caught on the end of a cumulonimbus, diving to the bottom of the ocean, dancing on the edge of the planets, because this cannot be reality. It’s too good. It’s too <em> good</em>.</p><p>“A ring,” Lucas says. Of all things, he looks smug, and that’s what tells Eliott that it could be real, because Lucas is still Lucas, and he’s annoying and perfect, and he’s saying—</p><p>“Because I want to marry you. I want us to be together forever, and I want us to get married. A fucking…” Lucas laughs, waving a hand through the air, “wedding and everything. Where all of our friends can come and get drunk and watch us be annoyingly in love. I want that, all of that, with you. Do you want that with me?”</p><p>Does he—</p><p>“Lucas,” Eliott whispers, the sweetest word he knows. “Lucas.”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“Please let me say this.” Eliott presses a palm out, hand flat, because he has to get this out, before he bursts into tears or melts to the floor or soars out of the window like a comet. “There was a time when I thought I would never be loved like I wanted to. A love that is unconditional, that makes me feel safe, and wanted, and makes me want to be better than I am. But you, oh <em> god </em> you showed me that love. You make me feel like I deserve it, and I—” Eliott groans, frustrated with the limitations of language for unpacking the flow of emotion within him. “Sometimes I wake up in the night and I can feel you lying next to me, and I just have to say thank you. To…I don’t know, the moon I guess, to someone or something that’s listening. I say, thank you for bringing him to me. My soulmate.”</p><p>“Fuck.” Lucas says thickly, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. “Eliott, I’m supposed to be making the speech, fucking hell.”</p><p>“Since the first moment,” Eliott cups Lucas’ cheeks in his hands, wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb, curling an index finger into Lucas’ hair. “The first moment I saw you, the first time I touched you, kissed you, all I’ve been able to think is, ‘I want to stay next to him for as long as he’ll let me’.”</p><p>“Forever,” Lucas murmurs, so quietly Eliott doesn’t so much hear the word as feel it spoken into his skin.</p><p>“Forever.” He swallows heavily. “I want that with you. The…the fucking wedding, <em> everything </em> Lucas. I want everything with you.”</p><p>Lucas sniffs, gripping onto Eliott’s elbows, blinking away stray tears. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s magic, this person between Eliott’s palms. He’s a wonder, and Eliott can’t do anything but kiss him. And kiss him.</p><p>“I love you,” his whispers into Lucas’ lips, then he’s pulling him close, and the kiss tastes like saltwater, like oceans of possibility.</p><p>Lucas’ hands move to Eliott’s back, wrapping around him, and he breaks away to gasp out, “Just so you know, I will propose again. With a ring. And I won’t tell you when.”</p><p>And Eliott says, “Not if I do it first.”</p><p>They laugh, and they kiss, clutching at each other in a way that could only be described as the gentlest culmination of longing, and Eliott thinks he can see stars behind his eyes, like he’s fallen from the rings of Saturn into space, except no, that’s not it; not falling—</p><p>He’s flying.</p><p>
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  <em> Idriss </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Idriss is at the record player, switching out the Mac for Boney M, when there’s a familiar touch at his elbow, a presence that has him smiling before he even turns his head.</p><p>“Yes?” He drawls, out, eyes on the needle as it lowers. “Do you need something?”</p><p>But there’s no flirtatious response from Celine, like he’s expecting. “Look over there.” She hisses, tugging on his arm.</p><p>Idriss turns to where she’s pulling him, facing the hall that leads off to their bedroom. From where they’re standing Idriss can just see two figures there, lines of bodies blurring together, and he frowns.</p><p>“Is someone about to hook up in the bathroom?”</p><p>Celine snorts into his shoulder. “Look.” She repeats, pressing her fingers into his elbow. “It’s Lucas and Eliott.”</p><p>Idriss leans into the wall next to the record player so that he can get a better look, and sees a set of familiar profiles.“Right, okay. Are Lucas and Eliott about to hook up in the bathroom?”</p><p>“I think it happened,” Celine says, “and I think you need to pay up.” The triumph in her voice leaves no room for interpretation.</p><p>“Bullshit." They’re kissing, because that’s what they do, Eliott cupping Lucas’ face in his hands, Lucas gripping onto Eliott’s back. “That’s what they’re always like at parties.”</p><p>“No come on, it’s different. <em> Look </em> at them. I think Lucas is crying.”</p><p>Idriss rolls his eyes, but the thing is, it actually does look like Lucas is crying, the light from the bathroom just catching on his face at the right moment, and Idriss can see how red and blotchy his cheeks are, how fucking shiny his eyes are even from as far away as he is.</p><p>There’s movement at his shoulder, and Idriss glances back to see Sofiane and Imane peering behind them, wearing matching expressions of curiosity.</p><p>Imane gasps. “No way. Did it happen?”</p><p>“I don’t think—” Idriss begins, but his voice trails off when he sees Lucas tug Eliott’s hand away from his cheek, staring down at it for a moment before he presses a kiss to Eliott’s ring finger.</p><p>They all watch, anticipation palpable, as Eliott laughs, wrapping his arms around Lucas and lifting him, spinning them in a narrow circle.</p><p>Celine laughs, delighted. “Pay <em> up</em>.”</p><p>
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  <em> Lucas&amp;Eliott </em>
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</p><p>You realize that planning a wedding is both the easiest and hardest thing that a person can do.</p><p>It’s easy to tell everyone, to get excited and to drink champagne at an impromptu party. It’s easy to dream about delicious food and elaborate flowers. It’s easy to whisper to each other like a promise, <em> when we get married… </em></p><p>But it’s hard to find a place to host your hearts for an afternoon. It’s hard to budget, and to say <em> this, but not this</em>, and to compromise. It’s easy to walk by a flower shop and wander inside holding hands, but it’s hard to discuss prices with the sweet older woman who works there.</p><p>It’s hard to choose a date when you wish it was <em> today</em>, but you also need to plan. You need one year to wait. You need to work, and you both do. They’re good jobs, the types of jobs you dreamed of having for so long, but you spend many nights exhausted, apart and together, tired eyes rubbed raw and muscles tight. Those nights are hard, but it’s easy when you’re together again, easy to smooth a furrowed brow with a kiss, easy to tangle your feet and fall asleep together, breath for breath.</p><p>It’s hard to plan, but it’s easier with friends. They take charge, swanning into your apartment with a thick binder and colour swatches, excitement palpable in every page they show you. Together, you decide. <em> This, and this, and this</em>.</p><p>September 26th.</p><p>It’s a Saturday, golden and beautiful, and you barely sleep the night before, but when you awake you have too much energy to be contained. You’re told off by your well-meaning wedding planners for nearly ruining your suits, and you make your way back to the garden like school children caught skipping class, heads held low but still laughing, tripping each other as you walk and sharing teasing sideways glances.</p><p>There are chairs in the garden, and flowers that no one had to purchase, growing right from the ground, and give it an hour or so, and the chairs are filled with bodies thrumming with excitement, eyes fixed on where the two of you stand, hands joined, barely breathing, the kind voice of a friend guiding you through it, having received a special certificate for one special day.</p><p>Together you say, <em> I promise</em>. You say, <em> Forever</em>.</p><p>Then you kiss, and it’s a small crowd, gathered behind you, but the noise they make is deafening.</p><p>There's a party, and it gets as out-of-hand as you expect it to, unapologetically joyous and riotous, the type of party where you are young and in love, and so you feel endless. Gods for a night.</p><p>You dance together. First, intimately, swaying together. Then poorly, flailing limbs and sweating foreheads. Then inappropriately, enough that it’s the moment your mothers decide to call it a night, and return to the hotel for a final drink.</p><p>You dance until dawn. You stumble out of the tent carrying your shoes, shirts unbuttoned at the neck, and you’re arm-in-arm with your friends, feeling like you haven’t stopped laughing for hours. You’re tired, but you realize all over again, you’re <em> married</em>, and you take off at a run, leaving your friends behind, who only grin at each other knowingly.</p><p>You take a detour at the hotel, a hill that overlooks a wildflower field, and you manage to catch the sunrise together. Rather than feeling the magic of the night is fading, you feel it soften, and settle around you like a cloak of morning mist.</p><p>Because this is the thing.</p><p>It’s hard to be human. To live and to feel with all the space in your heart that you have, to drift from one moment to another untethered, so unsure of where all of it is leading you. It’s hard to have your heart broken, and to still want to love. It’s hard to do the next scary thing, when you realize that after that, comes the next scary thing.</p><p>But it’s easy to watch the sunrise. It’s easy to bathe yourself in your friends’ laughter. It’s easy to dance, and to look ridiculous, and to reach out for the hand that’s reaching out to you.</p><p>Being in love, being loved, is not always easy. For you two, it was hard. It was harder than you ever thought it would be, but this, the glint of morning light off of silver rings, the shiver you feel when you press your hands together, the soft touch of lips to skin—this is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.</p><p>Eventually you leave, arms wrapped around each other, exhausted and incandescent. You’re headed for a morning of sleep, and an indulgently late brunch. You’re headed for everything known and unknown, and, most importantly you’re headed there together.</p><p>Not maybe, not someday.</p><p><em> Yes</em>. <em> Now. </em></p><p>Now, and now, and now.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a lovely person on tumblr asked what happened during lucas and eliott's honeymoon, and so, here's what happened 🍯🌙</p>
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    <p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p>It took them a long time to decide on a place to go, and then it only took seconds.</p>
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  <p>There was much debate leading up to the wedding: what would be too expensive, what would be too crowded, what would be too busy or too boring.</p>
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  <p>They throw out city names like they’re throwing darts at a map: Berlin, Vienna, Nice, Oslo, Madrid, Cairo, Edinburgh, Tokyo, Kathmandu.</p>
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  <p>It’s a question that floats, untethered and translucent, until one night when they’re sitting on the sofa together, legs tangled, with Chelou curled in Eliott’s lap and Lucas’ computer open on his. Eliott has his head titled back towards the ceiling, lips pursed together, thinking.</p>
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  <p>Then, suddenly, Lucas says, “Eli. Look at this Air BnB.”</p>
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  <p>He turns his laptop towards Eliott, adjusts the brightness so he can see a small, idyllic cottage at the base of a mountain, surrounded by wildflowers.</p>
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  <p>“It’s in our price range.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott gasps, leaning forward reach for the laptop, ignoring the annoyed grunt from Chelou as she’s dislodged from his lap.</p>
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  <p>“Where?” He asks a little breathlessly, eyes narrowing in on the information listed beside the photo. When he glances back up at Lucas, he’s smiling, bright as sunshine. “Switzerland?”</p>
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  <p>“Switzerland.”</p>
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  <p>So, in the end, it really only takes seconds. Seconds for them to book the cabin for the week following their wedding, for them to receive a pending email, and for them to burst into a round of excited laughter, falling into each other on the sofa.</p>
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  <p>Their friends are decidedly underwhelmed by their decision, woefully lamenting that they’re passing up an opportunity to venture out into great wide world, but it doesn’t bother Lucas and Eliott so much, knowing that they can only spend so much money, knowing that it’s a place that neither of them have been before, knowing that what they really both want, more than anything, is time: time where they can be together somewhere, really together, without any distractions, without deadlines or expectations or commitments.</p>
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  <p>Eliott reminds Lucas of this while they’re on the train, lifting their linked hands from his lap and pressing a soft kiss to Lucas’ knuckles, nuzzling into his hand.</p>
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  <p>“I’m excited,” Eliott says lowly, and Lucas nods, glancing down at the tourist guide that sits open over his thigh.</p>
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  <p>“I hope so. You’re the one who booked the tour.” He hums. “Those baby giraffe legs of yours will be useful when you need to carry me up the mountain.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott laughs, his breath warm against Lucas’ skin. “Sure, I’ll carry you,” he says easily. “But it never mattered to me where we went. You know that, right?” He gently pries open Lucas’ palm, presses a kiss to his heart line. “I just want to be with you.” A delicate pause. “Preferably in a bed.”</p>
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  <p>Lucas snorts, pushing Eliott’s face away with his open palm. “We get it, Demaury.” He says dryly. “We get it.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott winks at him, at least, it could be a wink, and it’s so embarrassing and endearing that Lucas can’t help but lean in towards him, smoothing his fingers through Eliott’s hair, dancing along his cheekbone.</p>
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  <p>“I know,” he says softly. He tucks a strand of Eliott’s hair behind his ear. “I feel the same way.”</p>
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  <p>The cabin is exactly as advertised: small, cozy, rustic, romantic in a way that has Lucas, despite his teasing towards Eliott earlier, reaching for his shirt the second that the door closes behind them, dragging him towards the double bed covered in layers of wool blankets. There, they create a tiny world of love all over again, the same world they build around themselves everywhere they land, turning the light golden and the air sweet.</p>
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  <p>They don’t surface until the next morning, when Lucas grudgingly agrees to leave the cabin for the guided hike through the mountains Eliott booked a space on weeks ago, coaxed out of the cabin with the promise of food and the sight of Eliott in a pair of denim shorts and hiking boots.</p>
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  <p>They’re nearly late because Eliott won’t stop taking pictures of the mountains, and Lucas won’t stop taking pictures of Eliott, but when they arrive at the meeting point, out of breath and already sweating at their temples, their tour guide just grins knowingly at them.</p>
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  <p>“Honeymoon, eh?” She asks. She’s older, with long grey hair tied into two thick braids, and when she smiles, her eyes crinkle at the corners like well-loved pages. She thumbs over her shoulder at another couple, two girls sitting on a rock together, trading slow kisses between bites of a shared granola bar. “You’re not the only ones.”</p>
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  <p>The group is small, comprised of Eliott and Lucas, the guide, the other couple, and five university students from Ireland, who all take turns shaking Eliott and Lucas’ hands excitedly after they introduce themselves.</p>
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  <p>The sun is high when they start hiking, the wind warm and pleasant. Their guide takes them through what she calls a “beginner’s trail,” but it still manages to exhaust every one of them. By the time they take their first break, Lucas is sweating through his shirt and complaining that his legs are so sore Eliott might actually have to carry him down.</p>
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  <p>But when they reach the end of their climb, a lookout point halfway up to a peak, there is only silence. Silence and awe as they all take in the gold and green valley below them, the singing wind in their ears, the thin, fresh air in their lungs.</p>
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  <p>Eliott has the guide take a picture of them there, pressed together at the edge of the lookout, dishevelled and tired and smiling so widely the guide feels the corners of her own mouth turning up in response.</p>
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  <p>“You’re beautiful together,” she tells them softly, seriously, making the both of them blush.</p>
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  <p>The view is spectacular, the type of view that begs to be ingested in real-time, not captured and carried away in a case, and they stay there as long as they possibly can, feeling every minute slip over their skin as it passes, until the guide tells them they need to get going if they want to make it back to the valley by sunset.</p>
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  <p>No one is expecting going <em>down</em> to be more difficult than going <em>up</em>, but it is. They have to watch out for sliding heels and buckling knees now, bracing themselves on rocks and trees, fingers scraping against bark, catching on sharp ridges. Eliott loses his balance at one point, long arms flailing out, and Lucas just manages to catch him in time, gripping tightly onto his hands and his shirt, cackling as Eliott swears breathlessly, eyes as wide and startled as a fawn’s.</p>
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  <p>They return to the valley with long shadows, just as the sun kisses the highest peak of the mountains. They tip the guide, thanking her profusely for the day she gave them, and wave to the rest of the group before beginning the slow, aching trip back to their cabin.</p>
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  <p>They stop at a small store for food, filling a basket with bread, cheese, soup, fruit, porridge, and wine. Lucas winks at the cashier when her eyes slyly drift between him, Eliott, and the bottle of deep red.</p>
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  <p>“It’s like we’re radiating honeymoon energy,” Lucas says with a laugh when they’re outside again, huddling against the cold creeping in with the sun’s descent. “Everyone just<em> knows</em>.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott smiles, tucking Lucas’ hand into his hoodie pocket, their fingers linked together. “I don’t doubt it.”</p>
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  <p>Lucas wrinkles his nose. “Eliott, are we gross? Are we <em>that</em> couple?”</p>
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  <p>Eliott ducks his head to press to fleeting kiss to Lucas’ forehead. “I think we are, baby.” He says solemnly.</p>
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  <p>“Well.” Lucas hides a grin in Eliott’s shoulder, leaning into his side, their feet weaving a lazy, curving path along the quiet road. “I think I like that.”</p>
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  <p>“Yeah?”</p>
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  <p>“Yeah.” Lucas tilts his head up to glance at him, eyes dark in the dimming light. “Because I feel it all the time, you know. How much I love you. It’s like a...like a spark beneath my skin. I like the idea that other people can feel it too.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott’s gaze travels up to the expansive sky. He feels as though he could touch the very edges of it. “I like it too.” He takes his hand out of his warm pocket, wraps his arm around Lucas’ shoulders to tug him more firmly into his side. “I like you.” He had meant it to be sweet, teasing, but once the words are out of his mouth, they don’t feel like enough, not nearly enough for the perfect way Lucas folds into his side, for the way the curve of his smile makes Eliott’s heart race. So he tilts his head down, and it’s an awkward angle, but he manages a kiss, soft and lingering, and he whispers right into Lucas’ lips, “I love you.”</p>
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  <p>Lucas lets out a sigh, arching up into Eliott. “I love you too.” He kisses him again, teasing, and gently bites down on Eliott’s bottom lip. “Hey. Did you know that we’re married?”</p>
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  <p>Eliott frowns. “Are we?”</p>
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  <p>“Think so. We signed a document and everything.”</p>
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  <p>“Huh.” Eliott pulls away, ignoring Lucas’ pouting lips and tugging him off of the main road, back towards their cabin. “I completely forgot about that.”</p>
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  <p>“That’s okay.” Lucas’ grin is moonlight and <em>want</em>, bare and bright. “I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”</p>
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  <p>Eliott squeezes him in closer, and he feels the rapturous history of every moment they’ve ever spent together when he says, “Promise?”</p>
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  <p>Lucas kisses him again, and it feels like breathless edge of every moment that’s still to come when says, “Promise.”</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so, so much for reading 🌻 i love you</p><p>come visit me on tumblr, if you like <a href="https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com">@lepetitepeach</a></p><p>and please, if you have the time, read through the <a href="https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co">black lives matter carrd</a> and the <a href="https://yemencrisis.carrd.co">yemen crisis carrd</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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